


say it, just say it

by katzette



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, M/M, Pining, Polyamory, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6514579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katzette/pseuds/katzette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Kuroo watched them, Bokuto with his hands unfolded towards the sky and his skin as piercingly pale as the moonlight, Akaashi with his eyes reflecting a myriad of stars as stunning as his face, and Tsukishima with his easy poise, Kuroo came to two dangerous realizations.</p><p>First: he was in love with all three of them.<br/>Second: he wished Bokuto was alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> After seeing [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sO0fp1qch5M) video, ot4 immediately came to mind. I hope you enjoy.

“Hey you! You can see me! You can _totally_ see me!”

Kuroo Tetsurou’s shoulders tensed with a chill he hadn’t felt in the public for some time now. And he intended to keep it that way. This was how his day was going to go: he would turn left down this street and then walk over a crossing. Then, he’d walk into a desolate alleyway, past a dumpster and a lively black cat that was somehow always in heat. He’d avoid the elevator of his building and climb the stairs to the sixth floor. Once he was in his apartment, he’d prepare some noodles and binge watch the rest of The Walking Dead.

What was _not_ going to happen: public embarrassment.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and added some haste to his step.

“Don’t ignore me. Our eyes met, I felt a _connection_!” The voice behind him was as persistent as it was boisterous. Kuroo’s ears were full of it, even in the afternoon rush.

He stopped at the crossing, nervously bouncing from leg to leg. His backpack hung light on his shoulders, not much beside a pencil case and a couple of notebooks in it.

“I’m going to follow you, y’know. I’ll follow you home and turn all your furniture upside-down.”

Kuroo closed his eyes and ground his teeth together.

“I’ll hoot in the middle of the night.”

In the alleyway, Kuroo petted the cat as he passed by. The cat leaned into his touch but Kuroo continue onward before he could give it more attention. He didn’t climb the stairs, he _stomped_ up the stairs, hoping none of his neighbors would file complaints about it later.

“I’m not sure how this dead thing works, but your neighbors are guaranteed to think you have some kinky sex.”

Kuroo shoved the key into its keyhole so hard he was surprised it didn’t stay stuck in there permanently. Once inside, he slammed the doors closed and rested his forehead against it. His heart knocked wildly on its constrains and Kuroo remained still until he calmed his breathing.

When he turned around, he met face to face with eyes of smouldering gold on a tall, lean figure of broad shoulders. Everything about him spoke power and grace; the arch of his thick eyebrows and the curve of his thin lips. His ridiculous silver hair stood defiantly against gravity, black streaks in it and all. He flickered occasionally, like a camera going in and out of focus, as the dead tended to do when their emotions fluttered from one extreme to another.

“What the hell is your problem,” Kuroo said with no real bite to his words. He wasn’t an unpleasant person; the dead tugging on his sleeve when his public image was in jeopardy brought out the worst in him sometimes.

“Finally,” the boy said. His voice was a pleasant, husky tone now, devoid of all attempts to annoy.

“You can’t expect me to pay attention to you in the middle of the street. People will think I’m crazy.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Right,” Kuroo repeated. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door. “I’ll go fix myself some food and you’ll tell me your story in the meantime.”

“Straight to business, I like it. What’s your name?”

“Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“Bokuto Koutarou.”

Bokuto didn’t offer a hand but he trailed after Kuroo while he took off his jacket and went to the kitchen to prepare noodles.

“I seriously thought I’d be drifting around for eternity,” Bokuto said, relieved.

“How long have you been dead? Do you remember how you died?”

Bokuto, who was leaning against the kitchen counter to Kuroo’s left, flickered out of focus for a split second. “Yeah. I remember everything.”

“Are you okay to talk about it?”

“Yes,” Bokuto’s grin was convincing enough. “What month is it?”

“November.”

“I died Mid October. I was riding my bike with headphones on. I wasn’t paying attention and a car hit me. Instant death.”

Bokuto spoke of it matter-of-factually, like it was somebody else’s story and he was merely passing it on. Kuroo kept his face blank of expression because his less alive counterparts were usually confused, lost and unimaginably sad so it was on Kuroo to keep his calm.

Reactions to death varied from person to person. Kuroo had only encountered young people, those who’d died before their time, and they were filled with regret and despair and Kuroo tried his best to help them wrap up their business so they could move on. Spirits, ghosts, however one may call them, are feelings and memories that no longer have a body to hold them. As such, they drift around until they’re found and put to rest. Kuroo never wanted this, but he learned to live with it as if it was his calling.

“You’ve been drifting for quite a while then,” Kuroo observed.

“I guess,” Bokuto said. “It was horrible. I felt hollow and alone and nothing was in colour. But then I saw you and remembered everything. How do you do that?”

Kuroo shrugged. “I just _do_. Put your hand on my shoulder.”

Bokuto was fast to close his palm around Kuroo’s shoulder, as if he was waiting for permission all this time. Kuroo didn’t mind, such was the effect he had on the dead. They leeched off of him.

Kuroo felt the lingering sensation of unsteady coldness and heaviness sitting high on his shoulder. Bokuto was no longer flickering, in fact, he looked as though he was still alive, solid and vibrant. To Kuroo, in this moment, Bokuto was as real as anyone else.

“ _Whoa_!” Bokuto took Kuroo’s hand and pressed their palms together.

“Whoa, indeed,” Kuroo confirmed. Before Bokuto could retract his hand, Kuroo intertwined their fingers and held him in place. “So, what can I do for you?”

Bokuto tried to pull back but failed. “I—It’s nothing too complicated.”

“Yet you’re stalling.”

“I’m not stalling!”

Kuroo put chopsticks in his mouth and talked around them as he walked to the living room couch, leading Bokuto with him.

“You have until I eat five noodles to tell me.”

When Bokuto sat down next to him, in his ghostly sweatpants and all, his legs folded underneath him, Kuroo let go.

Kuroo made a show of putting only one noodle in his mouth, not once breaking eye contact with Bokuto.

“Okay,” Bokuto yielded. He turned his body to Kuroo and Kuroo noticed that the couch gave away under Bokuto’s weight. He continued, “I want you to go check on my boyfriends.”

Kuroo dropped his chopsticks, mouth hanging open as his third noodle slipped out between his lips.

“Are you okay with that? I promise they’re great!” Bokuto reassured, waving his hands frantically.

“Boyfriend... _s_?”

“Yes.”

“...What _are_ you?” Bokuto opened his mouth to reply but Kuroo stopped him with his chopsticks. Lips puckered and eye crossed to look at them, Bokuto didn’t speak. “I will do it. Just... point me to them and pray it won’t be too awkward for a stranger to suddenly take interest in them.”

Bokuto bounced in place, none of the potential awkwardness seemed to bother him. He inquired, “Kuroo, Do you have a laptop?”

“Yes.”

“Bring it out.”

Kuroo, whose downfall was that he was easily moved by curiosity rather than hunger, put his bowl of noodles down and picked up his laptop from underneath a pile of laundry in his room. He was surprised to find that Bokuto was waiting for him in the same spot and position.

The way Bokuto talked – urgent and excited – spoke volumes of who he was. Somebody who was used to moving, who couldn’t sit still if their life depended on it. A part of Kuroo sought those qualities in other people, and often came up empty-handed.

He sat down with the laptop cushioned in his lap and waited for instructions.

“Search the video titled ‘ _Birds Of Prey: Extreme Ice 2015_ ’.”

A quick search led them to a three-minute-long video. Kuroo pressed play and didn’t miss how Bokuto’s face lit up the moment a melodic tune filled a humble ice skating rink. Three figures glided over the ice to the beat of the bass, graceful like mist. All three of them were wearing form-fitting, black sweatpants gilded at the seams, and black turtlenecks just as tight and flattering to their figure.

Kuroo recognized Bokuto as the skater in front. His silver hair was haunting against the glistening ice around them. He led the other two with a waltz jump, perfectly timed to the moment the sensual beat dropped. He looked bigger on the video than he did sitting next to Kuroo. His presence swallowed up the entire rink.

Then, Bokuto was overtaken by the second skater. He was blond and lean, thinner than Bokuto, but the intense focus behind his thin-rimmed glasses as he performed a cantilever with his hands stretched out sent shivers down Kuroo’s spine.

Lastly, the third skater had a hair woven of the darkest nights and he looped between Bokuto and the Blonde. When Bokuto caught him by his wrist and ankle, Kuroo’s heart skipped a beat. Bokuto spun him in his arms and he landed nimbly on his skates, immediately diving in to break dance next to the Blonde. Their supple bodies moved in unison.

As the song reached its peak, the three of them lined up next to each other and moved their legs to the beat, performing dance moves that must’ve taken days to perfect, and even more to perfect on skates. Kuroo couldn’t look away.

_Silver, gold, ethereal._

When the video came to an end, a long silence that Bokuto didn’t interrupt, stretched between them.

“I have to talk to _them_?” Kuroo asked, terrified and overwhelmed, as though his voice was irretrievably lost somewhere in his throat. His heart was thrashing against his chest like a traveler looking for a shelter in the midst of a storm.

“Yes. I just want to make sure they’re doing fine and that they’ll compete this year despite my absence. It’s no problem, right?”

Kuroo swallowed, thickly. His eyes were still glued to the black screen where the video used to be. “Right.”


	2. series of unfortunate first impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally titled ‘The Chapter in Which Kuroo Is Having a Hard Time Trying to Communicate with Bokuto Without Everyone Thinking he’s Talking to Himself’. But that was too long.

Kuroo tapped his pencil on the scrawled notes of his chemistry notebook. Chemistry was one of the few subjects he adored. Formulas, reactions, the _logic_. Put one chemical in another and chances were you’d know what would happen. Put one ghost in a class full of people and options were limitless. Though Kuroo had eagerly put down every formula – and solved it just as eagerly – his eyes followed Bokuto as he made his strut around the classroom. The further he went from Kuroo, the more transparent he became, but that didn’t stop him from making pencils move across the desks of unsuspecting students who then blamed each other when pencils went missing.  

Eventually, Bokuto grew tired of mischief and sat in the empty seat next to Kuroo. Kuroo was sitting in the last row, next to the wall, the only four seats which were always unoccupied due to an urban legend that surrounded it – the seats were cursed. Apparently. Kuroo had never seen a ghost on campus grounds and he had no reasons to believe there were any. Sure, he was only attuned to certain types of energies but that didn’t make him fearful of those he couldn’t sense or see.

Kuroo turned the last page of his notebook and wrote: _Done harassing people?_

“I’m _bored_ , Kuroo,” Bokuto whined and let his chin drop on the desk with an ear-piercing thud. Every head turned towards the last row. Kuroo muttered an apology and hid his face behind his palm.

 _Bokuto please..._ He wrote _.  
_

“Sorry,” Bokuto said. He looked up at Kuroo, his golden eyes in focus now that he was close. His cheek was squished on the desk so he spoke with vibrations. “Imagine how awkward it would be if they could hear me.”

_You can only make your presence known by interacting with something of this world_

“Figured. I can touch them but they can’t touch me.” Bokuto poked Kuroo’s thigh under the desk.

_Unless they’re like me. It’s not as dramatic as in the movies. Death is just a whole lot of nothing for them_

“But I’m here.”

_Sorry, that was inconsiderate :( Of course you are here_

“Don’t worry about it.”

The professor, whose voice carried all the way to the back row despite his receding hairline that gave away his age, wrote a new task on the board so Kuroo’s attention was back on simpler things in life. Bokuto, who thankfully remained still next to him, heaved a dramatic sigh every once in a while, like a tiny animal seeking attention. Kuroo took pity on him and ruffled loose hairs around his ears. They had a feather-like quality, but they were there. He couldn’t anticipate that Bokuto would be _so_ pleased by the minutest displays of affection that he’d kick the desk and, once again, cause a stir.

This time, the one person Kuroo didn’t want to deal with so early in the morning, turned around. A sly smirk hung on Daishou Suguru’s anguine face. He had the audacity to rest his arm on Kuroo’s desk and Bokuto recoiled from him, not in fear, but in wonder.

“Kuroo- _chan_ ,” Daishou said, the sugar in his voice poisonous. “Some of us are actually taking this lecture seriously.”

“Yes,” Kuroo confirmed, “ _some_ of us who are actually turned to the board and paying attention. I saw you got third place on the test, maybe you should join _some of us_.”

Daishou’s expression went sour and he turned around with a click of his tongue.

Bokuto slammed his palms together. “Whoa. I’m sorry for kicking the desk and unleashing _that_ on you.”

Kuroo inhaled and with the exhale came a brilliant idea. He wrote: _tickle the life out of him_

“Sure! Let me just—“ Bokuto lay his hand over Kuroo’s thigh and held it there.

Three years ago, Kuroo was helping an eight-year-old boy push his sickly grandma’s wheelchair. The boy wanted to do it himself but he wasn’t strong enough. Only when he held onto Kuroo’s leg did he manage to do it. That was how Kuroo learned that he was not only attuned to spirits’ energies, but also a human spirit battery.

Once Bokuto was done, he looked at his hands and wiggled his fingers which was as funny as it was sinister.

Eyes narrowing like predator’s, Bokuto said, “I’ll tickle him so hard the next three generations of his family will feel it.” He laid his torso over the desk and spread his arms towards oblivious Daishou. Kuroo was already covering his mouth because his laughter was threatening to spill.

When Bokuto started tickling Daishou, he couldn’t _stop_. Daishou wiggled, body twisting like snake’s, as he began to laugh in poorly suppressed hiccups. Kuroo himself barely held it together and he had to pull Bokuto away by his pants.

Daishou spent the next few minutes apologizing to the professor and the rest of the class, his head humble and bowed. He couldn’t hide how confused he was.

Kuroo felt the slightest pang of guilt. Then, it passed.

* * * * *

“I’m rushing the most important meal of the day because of you,” Kuroo said, his mouth full of cheap _kitsune udon_ he brought from the cafeteria to a lone table in the park. Like this, he could speak into the bowl while maintaining his dignity.

Bokuto pouted across from the table. “You said that for breakfast and I let you because I agree breakfast is the most important.”

Kuroo took another bite of his meal. He had to keep talking if he wanted to finish it without giving himself a stomach ache.

“What did you do when I was sleeping, anyway?”

“I stared at you face,” Bokuto said, a smile so innocent spread on his face, eyebrows raised and all, that Kuroo couldn’t help but think he looked a little like a young owl.

“...Dude.”

“Just kidding. You do have lovely eyelashes, though.” Bokuto lightly touched Kuroo’s leg with his foot underneath the table. “But seriously, I was lying down next to you and thinking...”

Kuroo swallowed. “About what?”

Bokuto shrugged noncommittally. His expression was anything but. Kuroo shouldn’t have asked.

“It’s just, now that I’m aware of myself again I realize how much I miss it. I miss skating and competing and the rush. I also miss my boys.”

Kuroo put his bowl down. He was aware that a few people were passing by to his left so he put his palm over Bokuto’s as inconspicuously as he could. He spoke slowly while pretending to chew: “We will get you the closure you deserve.”

Bokuto’s golden eyes were free of trepidation despite his predicament. He said, “I’m glad I found you.”

“And I’m glad you found me,” Kuroo put his chopsticks down. He felt a surge of anxiety when Bokuto reminded him of what he must do after this. “This is a new experience for me too, you know. Most spirits stick around for a few hours, just enough for me to help them tie up a single loose end.”

“Yet you can’t shake _me_ off.” Bokuto’s shoulders sunk and his upturned lips flickered.

“You tickled my arch enemy,” Kuroo reassured. “We’re officially friends.”

Bokuto’s mood switch was immediate and he perked up to the point his hair stood spikier than before.

“People are really going to think I’m crazy,” Kuroo said when he accidentally met eyes with a passing college student he didn’t recognize.

“Maybe you are!”

“You’re not helping.”

* * * * *

The convenience store Akaashi Keiji – Kuroo learned as soon as they were on their way over since Bokuto wouldn’t shut up about _Akaashi this_ and _Akaashi that_ – worked at was a small place a few blocks away from Kuroo’s university. The windows were kept pristine and allowed for a clear view of manga and magazines shelves. Further beyond them, Kuroo saw a cash register manned by a young man Kuroo got acquainted with via video. His hair was more tousled than he’d remembered, his expression devoid of passion he wore in the rink. He was still more beautiful than Kuroo knew how to put into words, or admit out loud.

“Shit,” he murmured. There was nowhere to go but through the front doors.

“Same,” Bokuto agreed. His gaze was fixed on Akaashi’s face, unblinking. “Do you have a plan?”

In lieu of a reply, Kuroo groaned and entered the place. Bokuto was trailing closely behind him. He uttered a brief greeting and disappeared behind the shelves. He shouldn’t act suspiciously so he decided to grab a pack of gums and some rice balls for dinner, both he can quickly shove into his bag if he caused himself some extreme embarrassment.

“What are you going to say?” Bokuto whispered over Kuroo’s shoulder though there was no need for him to do such a thing.

Kuroo hid his mouth in his shoulder as if he were wiping his nose. “I have a vague idea.”

With his items in hands, Kuroo approached the cash register and put them down. He didn’t lift his gaze until he saw Akaashi’s delicate fingers take the chewing gums. Kuroo felt the knot in his stomach tighten but he spoke anyway, louder than he’d planned to.

“I know you!”  

Akaashi wasn’t startled by the tone of his voice. He put the gums down and continued to charge for the rice balls, his eyes cast downwards. “You do, sir?” His voice was controlled, polite. Nothing like Kuroo’s shaky mess of nerves.

“Yeah.” Kuroo felt silly and hot around the collar. “Extreme Ice 2015? Your team was glorious. I think you deserved the first place.”

“Thank you. The second place wasn’t bad either.”

Akaashi’s curtness was a warning, a big yellow tape saying _do-not-cross_. Despite that, Bokuto crossed over to Akaashi and stood by him. They were close in height but Bokuto’s build was sturdy whereas Akaashi’s was slender. Blood in Kuroo’s veins froze when Bokuto reached out and touched a wayward strand of Akaashi’s dark hair and tucked it gently, fondly, behind his ear.

“Bokuto would disagree,” Kuroo spoke from something in him, something that remembered Bokuto’s eyes and upturned mouth when they watched the video multiple times last night.

Bokuto’s attention snapped back at him. And so did Akaashi’s. They were eerily in tune and Kuroo wondered if it was always like that between them.

Akaashi’s jaw locked underneath his gentle cheekbones before he spoke, “Bokuto is no longer here.” This startled Bokuto. “And you knew him...?”

“I’m a friend,” Kuroo lied.

Bokuto appeared next to Kuroo and nudged him. “Ask him if he’ll compete.”

“But you still plan to skate this January, right?”

“No. I quit,” Akaashi said and put Kuroo’s items in a bag. Kuroo forgot to tell him he didn’t need to.

“He can’t quit!” Bokuto reacted by waving his hand in front of Akaashi’s face. “He’s great, you saw him. You saw _us_.”

“But you are good at this. Watching you was—“

“Sir, please, pay for the items and go.” Nothing short of politeness was an option for Akaashi, but his tone held a sharp edge of remonstrance against anything else Kuroo might want to say.

Kuroo bit the inside of his cheek and pulled out his wallet. Before he left, he cast a glance at Akaashi, hoping he would tell him to stay. But Akaashi was looking the other way.

 

* * * * *

Kuroo wasn’t in a communicative mood on the way back to his apartment and Bokuto must’ve picked up on it because all he did was pad softly after him. At home, Kuroo dropped his bag on the kitchen table and went in the bathroom. He was in the middle of taking his shirt off when Bokuto walked in, posture humble.

“Should I wait outside?”

“Yes please,” Kuroo said and closed the doors. He let the water run until the bathtub was half full of lukewarm water and then he lowered himself inside. He pressed his face between his knees and exhaled. It was supposed to be easy. It usually was. That was how he kept himself in one piece as he collected pieces of those who couldn’t do it themselves.

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto’s voice interrupted his thoughts, muffled by the door separating them.

“No, I _am_ sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned you out of nowhere like that. I was just—“

“It’s alright.”

Kuroo wondered if Bokuto was pressing his palm to the door like they sometimes did in the movies to further the angst. He gathered some water in his palms and splashed it in his face. He said, “You seemed to be doing alright.”

Silence ensued. Panic washed over him. Was today the day he said all the wrong things?

“Kuroo, may I come in?”

Relieved, Kuroo replied in a small voice, “Yeah.”

Bokuto was inside in a blink of an eye. Kuroo tried to hide that it startled him, his mind reminding itself that Bokuto is a ghost, dead and gone. He brought his knees closer to his chest, so as to shield himself, though there was nothing to be ashamed of – Bokuto wasn’t even looking at him.

Bokuto kneeled by the bathtub and rested his cheek on its wet edge. “I don’t know what it’s like,” he said. “I’ve never lost someone I loved. In a way, I was lucky – I went out first. I can’t judge a pain I’ve never felt.”

“Yeah,” was all Kuroo could say.

“But still,” Bokuto lit up again, so much so that he flickered out of focus. “I don’t want skating to be a painful reminder for him. I don’t want him to quit. Him, or Tsukki.”

“The blonde one.”

“Yes. I’m worried about him too.”

“We’ll go find him tomorrow, after I apologize to Akaashi.”

“Okay,” Bokuto said. It sounded a lot like a _thank you_.

Moved, Kuroo reached out, a lack of impulse control or worse, and touched Bokuto’s hair. This caught Bokuto’s attention and he leaned into the touch. It was a bit funny how mellow he became once his head was being petted.

“Hey, I have no idea how I’m going to do this,” Kuroo confessed, Bokuto’s hair soft between his wet fingers.

Bokuto grinned. “I’m just glad you’re trying. I’ll be with you every step of the way!”

 

* * * * *

In Bokuto’s language, ‘I’ll be with you every step of the way’ meant ‘I will drag you to the closed skate center, that _oh-I-forgot-to-mention_ my grandfather owns, because my dead highness is in the mood for some after-midnight ice skating.’ Kuroo had already taken a bath but he was easy to talk into this after-hours-escapade because Bokuto’s eyes were big and shiny and it was impossible to say _no_.

“How will we get inside?”

“This way.”

Bokuto led him behind the main building, away from the main entrance. There was a single door with a keypad.

“Akaashi, Tsukki and I used this to train when the center was empty. We could go all out when we were alone.”

Kuroo approached the keypad. “What’s the code?”

“4511.”

A tiny red light lit up green and the doors opened with a click. Kuroo slipped inside like a thief under the disguise of the night. If he got caught, he would have a hard time explaining that he was let in by a ghost who just happened to know the code.

Emergency lights were on in the hallway so Kuroo had no trouble navigating past locker rooms to the skating rink. The trouble was that he wasn’t the only one there. As soon as Kuroo heard the scrape of skates on the ice and the sound of electronic music, he ducked behind the glass boards separating the rink from the bleachers.

Bokuto remained standing, the same glazed quality to his eyes that they had when he was looking at Akaashi.

“Bokuto,” Kuroo hissed. “Is that Tsukishima Kei?”

“Yes.” The word came out in a sigh. It was a surprise he registered Kuroo’s question at all. “He improved.”

His curiosity piqued, Kuroo peeked at the rink. There, like a swift pale shadow, was Tsukishima Kei, as Kuroo had guessed. He was clad in black, much like in the video, and he glided across the rink to the beat of the music. He didn’t do anything fancy but the way he closed his eyes when he performed a spin was captivating. It was like he knew ice would catch him and land him safely.

When the song came to a violent end, the silence that befell the rink was so grave that Kuroo heard his heartbeat in his ears and feared it would be the only sound his ears would remember.

“Are you going to come out or not?” Tsukishima’s voiced carried across the rink. Kuroo froze in the spot.  

Bokuto lightly kicked his leg and this helped him find his voice. He managed to grab the board and lift his body up.

“How did you know I was here?” He inquired and glanced to his right. Bokuto was leaning over the boards, and this time, he was smiling.

Tsukishima skated over and regarded Kuroo with curious distaste.

“You hair,” Tsukishima said and tugged at his own curly, blonde fringe. “It’s hard to miss.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Tsukishima steepled his fingers and asked, “How did you get in here?”

“I...” he trailed off, his eyes darting in Bokuto’s direction, and much to his surprise, Tsukishima followed the movement. Kuroo caught the brief nod of Bokuto’s head and continued, “Bokuto gave me the code when he was-- I came to honor his memory.”

Tsukishima’s eyes narrowed, shoulders squaring. “And you are?”

“Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto’s childhood friend,” Kuroo offered and bowed slightly.

Tsukishima, who seemed to be assessing Kuroo’s intentions, took a moment to bow in response. “Tsukishima Kei.”

Kuroo ran his hand through his hair, rendering it messier than before. “I know, he talked about you a lot. I’ve also seen your last year’s performance.”

“He never spoke of you,” Tsukishima countered. Suspicion was hidden behind layers of politeness.

“I lived away. He actually planned to have me meet both you and Akaashi when I moved back but...”

Bokuto provided no guidelines. He was silent next to Kuroo, and that was the scariest part. If he continued freezing at random whenever Akaashi or Tsukishima were present, Kuroo’s job was bound to prove more daunting than he was equipped for.

Tsukishima didn’t speak so Kuroo felt obligated to keep the conversation flowing.

“It’s good to see you skating. Will you be competing?”

“No.”

Bokuto’s head snapped towards Kuroo, eyes bewildered for the second time today.

Kuroo tilted his head to the left, “Yet here you are, alone, practicing.”

“A force of habit.” Tsukishima looked away like he couldn’t bear looking at Kuroo as he spoke those words. Kuroo knew why – they were lies and he knew a lie when he heard one; he’d been telling a lot of those today.

He leaned on the railing, straining his arm muscles to be on eye level with Tsukishima. Tsukishima pulled away and masked the abrupt movement by exiting the rink altogether. Kuroo felt a cold hand press at his lower back; it was Bokuto, holding onto him. Kuroo bit his lip because he didn’t know what to say to make Tsukishima stay. Much like Akaashi had let him go this afternoon, Kuroo would have to let Tsukishima go too.

Once he removed his skates, Tsukishima added, “Besides, Akaashi quit so there’s no Birds of Prey anymore.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Bokuto would want—“

“Kuroo-san.” The way Tsukishima said his name was foreign to his ears, somehow tainted. “We all grieve differently.”

Bowing his head once again, just as polite as the first time, Tsukishima left.

Kuroo held his breath until he was certain Tsukishima was truly gone. Then, he exhaled. He had never lost this much time in sighs.

“He’s highly suspicious of me,” Kuroo observed. Considering his story held little to no water, it came as no surprise Tsukishima had his reservations. Akaashi must’ve been just as suspicious. Kuroo now had a sample of how they dealt with their emotions and mentions of Bokuto. Tsukishima reasoned with his emotions, Akaashi retreated into himself and rejected contact from the outside.

“He’s very smart,” Bokuto said. “And he _does_ have a point. Competing as a single act is not unheard of but happens rarely. With two people, you have better chances. But it’s ideal with three.”

Kuroo sank down on the floor, his back to the boards. Bokuto joined him and let his head drop on Kuroo’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Kuroo asked, the chilliness of the rink finally seeping into his bones even though he was sweating after talking to Tsukishima.

“Yeah,” Bokuto said, his breath tingling the base of Kuroo’s neck. It wasn’t Bokuto’s _breath_ per se, but rather air moving to accommodate the space he was occupying. “It’s been three weeks since I died.”

“Things can fall apart in less three weeks.”

“But it’s not enough to move on?”

Kuroo didn’t like the feeling in his stomach. “No.” He nudged Bokuto’s head with his shoulder, forcing him to look up. When he did, Kuroo smiled. “We just have to try harder.”

He got up then, and offered his hand to Bokuto. Bokuto didn’t take it, because he’d already appeared by the rack with skates that people rented for a few hours when they were skating.  

“We came here to skate, right?”

It’s been a while since Kuroo had gone ice-skating. Some would argue that five years is longer than “a while” but Kuroo’s feet didn’t feel foreign in skates, nor did he fear or falter once he stepped on the ice. He skated with confidence, though he tended to stick to the boards in case his legs gave out.

“You didn’t fall in the first five seconds, that’s a surprise.” Bokuto’s tone held no malice, he was merely making an observation. His pale lips were pulled into a humble smile as he matched his pace to Kuroo’s. After all, he was neither cold nor did he need skates to perform the same feats as Kuroo did.  

“I’ve done this before,” Kuroo said.

Bokuto pushed past him in a gust cold air, turning around only to grin and say: “I’ll race you then!”

“C’mon, you can’t be—“ Kuroo swallowed his protests when Bokuto sped up to put some distance between them. His body reacted to a challenge so naturally that he forgot about the boards and about the jacket he had thrown over them.

Kuroo had taken up ice skating when he was fourteen. It was one of many activities he had convinced his parents were beneficial to his growth as a young person. And it was easy, they came from money. Kuroo quit once he entered high school but no lesson he learned in the rink was forgotten.

He wasn’t as dauntless as Bokuto, who showed off his technique as he made his laps around the rink, but he held his ground and remembered – chin up, arms spread, knees slightly bent. When Kuroo’d almost caught up with him, Bokuto spun around to taunt him with a smile and a wave of his hand.

And then he was gone.

Kuroo almost made a misstep and fell but Bokuto caught him. He placed his left hand on Kuroo’s hip and Kuroo felt a slight tingle of cold anticipation seeping through the fabric of his shirt. Bokuto’s other hand slid down Kuroo’s arm and held it up as though he was leading him on the dance floor.

“You have a great physique.” Bokuto eyes were focused on Kuroo’s legs as they skimmed around the rink in unison.

“Are you complimenting me?” Kuroo spoke around the smidgen of tension in his voice.

“Of course I am,” Bokuto said, earnest smile on his face. “Extreme ice skating takes inspiration not only from break-dance but also from figure skating and ice dancing. That’s what makes it fun.”

Bokuto spun Kuroo with practiced expertise, so much so that Kuroo didn’t mind being led around the rink like this. He would’ve lost balance many times if Bokuto wasn’t there, holding him. His heartbeat was growing impatient with excitement, and before he knew it, Kuroo was having fun.

“Hey Kuroo,” Bokuto said, slowing down. “Why don’t you join Birds of Prey as the third member?”


	3. third time's charm is not very charming

“Bokuto, I can’t do this. I feel like a stalker.”

“You’re not a stalker. You’re merely an innocent user of the skate centre after dark.”

“I’m innocent.”

“Yes.”

“I’m always this pure.”

“You are. Now go.”

Kuroo exited the shadows of the locker rooms, flush-faced and tousled, and followed a melancholy beat of drumstep to the ice rink. There, flawlessly gliding across ice, was Tsukishima Kei, clad in black, a stark contrast against the cold blues and whites around him. Eager to join him, an array of answers prepared in case Tsukishima was in an inquisitive mood, Kuroo picked up a pair of skates.

He was stopped by a hand pressed lightly between his shoulder blades. Bokuto’s hand.

“Warm up properly today,” he said, concern in his opalescent golden eyes.

Kuroo nodded. He zipped up his hoodie and began working on his neck and back, slowly and methodically, welcoming every crack of stiff bones. Bokuto watched him as he did so, instructing him what to focus on. Sitting in the classroom all day, and then on his couch during the time, had him forget how good a burn after a good stretch or a workout felt like. Sure, he visited the gym whenever he had the time, but it was nothing like this; a daily thrill that couldn't be bought by a monthly membership anywhere. 

Though immersed in warming up, Kuroo noticed when Tsukishima’s skates came to an abrupt halt and the sound of their scraping coming closer and closer until Bokuto was alarmed of their presence as well.

“Took a liking to skating, Kuroo-san?”

Kuroo continued running in place, the drop of his feet keeping him occupied and clear-headed. “Something like that.” He slowed down to catch his breath. “Am I a nuisance?”

Tsukishima shrugged; the motion was indifferent but his eyes were vigilant. “The center is not mine.”

“Is that a yes or a no?” Kuroo grinned, the feel of it awkward on his face. He knew he was handling glass with careless hands. Bokuto stood motionless next to him.

“You’re not a nuisance.” Tsukishima pushed himself away from the glass boards. “So long as I don’t have to scrape you off the ice.”

Bokuto’s joy was contagious, almost as if Tsukishima’s words revived his smile.

Satisfied with his warm up, Kuroo put his skates on and welcomed the ice underneath his feet. There was a confidence in him now, the kind that fostered a desire to show off in front of Tsukishima. To make him watch like Bokuto watched _him._ But there was no time to give in to this primal instinct because Bokuto had left his side in order to twirl around Tsukishima, the star-struck quality of his movements obvious from across the rink.

Kuroo toyed with the idea of proposing he joined – _revived_ – Birds of Prey at this very moment; he’d spent thinking the night away about the possibility of  belonging and mattering and _changing_. Invigorated by his thoughts, his legs moved faster, crossing the rink in a matter of seconds.

But.

This afternoon’s encounter with Akaashi was enough to have him withdraw. He'd prepared; his words were sincere, and so was his bow. And still. The image of Akaashi accepting the apology, his mouth sincere but his shoulders squared and retreating, was still fresh in his mind. Haunting him and reminding him not be hasty when he should be—

“ _Kuroo_!” Bokuto appeared next to him like a bolt out of the blue, expression open and excited. “Mention that you want to skate with him!”

“Not yet,” Kuroo murmured, glancing in Tsukishima’s direction in distress.

The song in the background switched; melancholy tunes were replaced by an upbeat remix of a pop song Kuroo’s heard oftentimes in cafeteria during lunch. Bokuto must've recognized the tune as well because he closed his eyes and moved with effortless grace. He performed a series of flawless waltz jumps, reminding Kuroo once again whose shoes he was trying to fill. He shook the thought away and didn't let Bokuto get too far without him.  

“Can you do that, Kuroo?” Bokuto’s smile was exultant.

Kuroo cast a glance over his shoulder to check on Tsukishima’s whereabouts. Certain that he was out of hearing reach, he said, “I _could_. Once upon a time. And maybe one jump. Not three.”

“You’re more confident on ice today, and you've warmed up properly. You move like you know what you’re doing. And—“ He stopped talking, as if he'd forgotten what he wanted to say, and Kuroo was glad he did because his head was starting to spin from all the praise.

“I kinda want to try it now,” Kuroo confessed.

“Be careful.” Bokuto’s voice meant business. When he was like this, Kuroo couldn't help but listen. “Watch how you land.”

Kuroo gained momentum fast. He felt a surge of excitement – something he’d forgotten long ago – and his legs begged him to leap off the ice. This feeling was what prompted him to jump sooner than he'd planned; managing to make half a revolution, he landed. His foot felt awkward and he came down tumbling. He met the impact with his hands but, as he slid along the ice, his hands slipped away and his chin took him the rest of the way.  

“Kuroo-san?” Tsukishima’s voice carried from across the rink and he skated over with haste.  

Kuroo saw Bokuto crouch next to him and reach out to help, but he retracted his hands when Tsukishima came to pull Kuroo up instead. Though he looked lean, Kuroo didn’t think that Tsukishima would have that much strength in his arms; Kuroo was on his feet in a manner of seconds, Tsukishima still holding onto him for support. His legs wobbled halfway but Tsukishima wouldn't let him fall.

They left the rink like that, and Tsukishima seated Kuroo in the first row of the bleachers.

“Wait here, there’s a first aid kit in the locker room,” Tsukishima said and left for the locker rooms as soon as he removed his skates. Kuroo watched after him, barely refraining from touching his aching chin.

Bokuto toppled in the seat next to Kuroo.

“You were off to a good start,” he reassured, running his hand through Kuroo’s sweaty fringe. Kuroo liked that. A lot.

“Don’t even go there,” Kuroo whispered. His whisper then turned into a self-pitying groan. “I embarrassed myself.”

“It could've been worse,” Bokuto said. “Do you hurt anywhere else?”

“No.”

Bokuto’s back slouched and he buried his face in his hands. “Thank god.” He exhaled. “I would've never forgiven myself if you got seriously hurt. I shouldn't have—“

It was Kuroo’s turn to ruffle Bokuto’s hair. “Don’t worry about it. I did it because I wanted to.”

The shift in Bokuto’s mood was instant, as ever. He met Kuroo's eyes with a grin and ducked in to press a cold, barely-there kiss on his chin. For a moment, that very coldness softened the ache. Kuroo found himself unable to move.

Fast-approaching footsteps came from their right so Bokuto moved away with an apologetic, innocent expression on his face.

Kuroo didn’t have time to say anything because Tsukishima was by his side in a blink of an eye. He opened the first-aid-kit with daft fingers and dabbled some antiseptic on a gauze. Like he’d done this a billion times before.

“This will sting a little,” Tsukishima said and Kuroo felt like a child again. The bleachers were cast in a dim light so Tsukishima’s face was illuminated only by the lights pouring in from the rink. Nevertheless, his demeanor was untouchable even as he was kneeling beside Kuroo. He grimaced when he touched Kuroo’s chin, as though afraid his touch might hurt him more than falling on ice did.

Kuroo grinned through the sting. He said, “So much for not scraping me off the ice.”

“It could've been worse.” Tsukishima took out a band aid. “You just chaffed your chin a little.”

Once the band aid was on, Kuroo couldn't stop touching it. It was annoying having it there; he felt it when he moved his jaw and opened his mouth. Tsukishima put the items back into the first aid kit.

This was an opportunity.

“How about I treat you to some breakfast tomorrow morning?” Kuroo proposed.

Tsukishima’s eyes narrowed and Kuroo thought he’d be rejected. “Where and when do you want to meet?”

 

* * * * *

Tsukishima’s golden head cut through the murky morning. He entered the café, his coat buttoned-up to the neck, and his expression grew more guarded when he spotted Kuroo sitting at the table by the window. Kuroo waved at him – and so did Bokuto – and Tsukishima sauntered over to sit across him.

Kuroo, whse cold hands  cold hands were clinging to the surface of his cup for warmth, had already drank half of his coffee while waiting. Before he could utter a proper greeting, the waiter came and asked Tsukishima for his order.

“I’ll take a strawberry shortcake and a chocolate cappuccino,” Tsukishima ordered and, when he spoke, a crisp scent carried to Kuroo. Mint, morning and Tokyo streets during the rush hour.

“A sweet-tooth,” Kuroo observed, smiling a little around the bitter taste of coffee in his mouth.

Tsukishima looked straight at him as he worked on the top three buttons of his coat. “Surprised?”

 _Charmed_. “Quite.”

Bokuto, who sat on the floor, tapped the leg of their table in some obscure rhythm. The vibrations carried to Kuroo and he lightly nudged him to stop.

“How’s your chin?” Tsukishima asked.

“It’s just a scratch.” He'd changed the band aid - after he'd almost left the house without it since the feeling of it annoyed him so much - and decided to only wear it for today. 

A brief interval of silence followed, one that Kuroo didn’t want to break first.

“While I wait,” Tsukishima said, much to Kuroo’s relief, “mind telling me about you and Bokuto?”

Kuroo’s throat went dry, none of it to be blamed on the coffee. Tsukishima’s steel, golden gaze saw right through him. He felt like a dead fly on a Petri dish.

“Repeat what I’m saying.”

Kuroo heard Bokuto’s calm voice and gave him a thumbs up underneath the table.

When he began talking, Bokuto’s speech was eloquent, slow, so Kuroo could reiterate everything that he said with precision. In a matter of a few sentences, Kuroo had gained a childhood friend on a playground, had numerous sleepovers, skated on frozen lakes despite the warnings from their parents, had left Tokyo when his parents divorced, kept in touch with Bokuto every once in a while, and came back when it was already too late.

Tsukishima listened with intent, not interrupting once, and when Kuroo’s story was over, the corners of his mouth seemed softer than before.

“I wish he spoke of you,” Tsukishima said, clasping his slender fingers together.

“It was my idea. I wanted to surprise you,” Kuroo said, cringing at how lame it sounded and hoping Tsukishima wouldn’t notice. He added, “It backfired.”

Before he could speak further, the waiter brought Tsukishima’s treats and Kuroo paid for them at once. Tsukishima didn’t touch his cappuccino, but took a bite of his shortcake instead. For a while, he chewed, eyes closed, and Kuroo couldn’t help but notice the golden flutter of his eyelashes over his pale cheeks.

Bokuto tugged at Kuroo’s pants leg. “Was that convincing enough?”

Kuroo nodded, keeping the motion natural and inconspicuous.

He watched Tsukishima as he ate, figuring he couldn’t speak much anyway since he kept putting piece after piece of the cake into his mouth, chewing slowly, or rather, relishing every bite. It was cute, in a way. Tsukishima’s shoulders looked smaller underneath the black coat but Kuroo knew their power in the rink. His face was small but defiant, graceful, all about smooth lines and soft roundness. The more he saw, the more he understood why Bokuto loved Tsukishima so much that he couldn’t move on unless he was sure that he – and Akaashi – were going to be fine.

“You’re staring,” Tsukishima spoke, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he swallowed the last of his cake.

Bokuto snickered on the side, poking Kuroo’s calf with his finger.

“I was thinking how grateful I am that you came.”

“You have an answer to everything, don’t you?”

Kuroo’s hand went for the back of his neck, scratching. He said, “Don’t call me out like that...”

He swore he caught a shadow of smirk cross Tsukishima’s face before he’d busied his mouth with the rim of his cup. Kuroo realized that much of his nervousness left his body after talking to Tsukishima in a brightly lit room. Tsukishima was reticent, not unreasonable. Maybe that was why this came so easy.

Our of the corner of his eye, Kuroo caught a glimpse of numerous passersby, making their way to whatever menial job they worked hard to get. They didn’t have dead people on their hands to worry about.

“So,” Tsukishima interrupted. “When are you going to tell me the real reason you invited me here?”

“Busted,” Bokuto called, making finger guns at Kuroo.

“Ah. You caught me.”

“I have a feeling you think you’re pretty stealthy,” Tsukishima said. “You’re not.”

Kuroo felt his cheeks flush, all evidence against him. He hugged his elbows and leaned forward on them. “But you’re here. Which means it worked.”

Tsukishima shrugged, taking another sip before he continued. “I was curious.”

Kuroo cleared his throat, finding that something was lodged in there; something like fear. With one look at Bokuto’s expectant gaze, he swallowed the rising fear of dread threatening to spill out of his mouth.

“I was wondering if you’d want to rethink your decision to not compete this January and—“ Kuroo’s eyes flickered over to Bokuto “—I could be your third member.”

Tsukishima fell silent. So very silent that when he put his cup down, Kuroo felt as though its gentle thud on the table killed every sound in the entire world.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” Kuroo tried. He struggled to string a sentence. He had to do this now, and he had to do it right. Then, words came out all at once. “Because— _because_ I wasn’t here. And I missed out. On him, on skating, on you two. And I can’t move on until I do this to honour his memory. I doubt he can move on either.”

Tsukishima pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes against it. The sigh he let out was brimming with exhaustion and defeat. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo said and fall back into his chair. He looked at Bokuto whose now semi-transparent form was flickering, reacting to Tsukishima’s emotional state. “I’m sorry. But this is how I feel.”

“So you want to push your feelings onto us? Complete strangers?”

“Yes. I am sorry,” Kuroo faced him head-on, his eyes boring fearlessly into Tsukishima’s. “But you were important to him so you’re important to me.”

Tsukishima let out sigh after sigh in succession. He was growing wearier after each one. He finished his cappuccino in a single gulp, the tips of his ears now completely red.

Kuroo listened to a buzz of conversation around him in order to forget about his raging, demanding heart. Next to him, Bokuto seemed to have gone permanently still. Some of his silver hair had fallen messily around his face.

Tsukishima set the cup down, at last. It felt as if whatever he was about to say, would be the final verdict.

“But Akaashi’s quit.”

Kuroo beamed. He didn’t mean to, but Tsukishima’s response drew it out of him. “Are you two still...?”

“Yes. And I respect his decision.” Tsukishima set his lips in a firm line, as if lost in thought. Kuroo had to go to class soon but it felt as though time had stopped while Tsukishima fought his silent, inner battles. Finally, he said: “Come to the center tonight.”

“Of course.”

 

* * * * *

“Kuroo, what happened?”

“Are you okay?”

“On your chin of all places!”

Kuroo offered everyone a reassuring smile, even bowing his head politely as he passed his college colleagues who showed the slightest of concern for him. Bokuto trailed behind him, stubbornly trying to un-tuck his shirt from his pants because, according to Bokuto, there was time and place for looking prim and proper and this wasn't one of them. Kuroo was certain that Bokuto was just bored. Once they were in the hallway, on their way to Kuroo’s last class of the day, Bokuto gave up on this pointless task.

“Hey, Kuroo.”

Kuroo hummed to indicate he was listening.

“I just noticed that you don’t have any friends. How come?”

“That’s straightforward,” Kuroo murmured, ducking his head bashfully. Bokuto fell into step with him, peering into his face with his owlish, curious eyes, and leaving him with nowhere to run. Kuroo looked away. “We’re here, _shh_.”

They entered the classroom and only a handful of people paid attention to Kuroo. Kuroo waved at them in a polite manner and slipped past them to the back of the classroom, walking by Daishou’s seat. Oddly enough, he was chatting with a bunch of guys Kuroo recognized as seniors of the physics and chemistry department. It eluded Kuroo what they would want with Daishou. Daishou acted as if he couldn't see Kuroo - the corner of his eye betrayed him in the last moment - but Kuroo didn’t want to spend too much time dwelling on his scheming presence.

“Those guys look familiar,” Bokuto mussed when they sat down. He was staring at one of the older guys. 

Kuroo couldn't reply - nor did he have anything to reply with - but didn’t think much of it anyway. Daishou’s business had nothing to do with his own. Thankfully.

 

* * * * *

“What are you doing?”

Bokuto was sitting at the foot of his couch, starting intently at a chewed-on pencil on Kuroo’s humble coffee table. His arms were crossed and his bushy brows were pulled together in a dissatisfied frown.

“I’m exploring the possibilities of my deadness,” Bokuto explained. “Like moving this pencil with the power of my mind.”

Kuroo tapped his textbook with his intact pencil, pondering whether to tell him that most people would see him touching the pencil as him levitating objects. He decided against it. He said, “And how’s that working out for you?”

“... It’s a process.” Bokuto’s pout was disarming, stubborn and childish, and Kuroo found himself grinning.

He didn’t want to say it – afraid it would feel too real – but having Bokuto around chased away some of his loneliness. He could tell why somebody like Tsukishima and Akaashi – both proud and reserved individuals – would cherish Bokuto. Bokuto filled up a lot of space. He filled it with his voice, his shoulders, his smile. It was easy to settle in the safety of his presence. It’s only been three or four days and Kuroo had already forgotten how to be alone. But now that he knew what it was like to have Bokuto, he didn’t want to know what it was like to lose him. He didn’t have to live with that kind of loss, unlike Bokuto’s boyfriends.

The thought plagued him until he delved so deep into chemistry formulas that he couldn’t spare a single distracting thought. Though he had adopted Bokuto’s trouble as his own, quizzes and exams and reading material didn’t stop piling up. Even Bokuto seemed to have resigned to staying put for a few hours every afternoon while Kuroo studied.

 

Kuroo wrapped his studies up shortly after the sun had set. He stretched with a moan befitting a porn star and let his spine unwind into the couch.

“Good job,” Bokuto praised, stretching as well even if all he’s done was glare at a pencil for the past few hours.

Kuroo huffed a helpless smile. “You too.”

Soundlessly, Bokuto was standing above him, holding himself up on the couch’s backrest, forcing the muscles of his forearms into Kuroo’s full view. His fingers found the base of Kuroo’s neck and, pressing hard, he dragged them up the length of Kuroo’s neck until they tangled in his messy hair.

The drag of his fingers lingered on Kuroo's sore neck and he let out a sound he couldn’t name. “Do that again, please.”

Bokuto repeated the motion again, pressing harder, the coldness of his fingers merging with the warmth of Kuroo’s skin. Kuroo felt the tension in his neck unlock and alleviate. This time Bokuto didn’t stop where Kuroo’s hair began, instead, he ran his entire palms into Kuroo’s hair, massaging at his scalp with strong fingers. Kuroo felt as though he may fall asleep if this continued.

“Akaashi did this for me a lot,” Bokuto said, the softness of his voice adding to Kuroo’s drowsiness. “He has magical fingers.”

Such was the melancholy in the way he talked about Akaashi that Kuroo didn’t dare interrupt.

 

* * * * *

Kuroo entered the rink with but a mild headache after Bokuto hadallowed him to nap until it was time to go. He sprinted on his way over to the center so every muscle in his body was alive, his blood pumping strong and eager – even more so when he saw Tsukishima moving along the rink, owning it completely.

There was no music in the background so Kuroo could focus on the sound Tsukishima made as he swished by him. Bokuto entered the rink first, arms spread wide. He looked so free Kuroo felt an unwelcome pang of envy; until he remembered why he was here in the first place. He joined the two of them on the ice.

“Hello,” Kuroo said, catching up to Tsukishima who had slowed down, Kuroo hoped, for this very reason.

“You are serious,” Tsukishima said, gaze fixed on the space in front of them as they moved in unison. Bokuto was there too, keeping pace. “About competing.”

“Yes,” Kuroo confirmed. “I may suck, occasionally, but I’m serious.”

Tsukishima gave a slight nod and stopped moving altogether. “Do you know anything about this type of skating?”

“Yes.” Kuroo threw his head back and recalled Bokuto’s words. “It’s a combination of freestyle skating, figure skating and break dance. Skaters usually make up their own dance routines to a song of their choice,” he said. “I watched some videos.”  

“Okay,” Tsukishima nodded. “That’s the most basic of basics that are of absolute no use in the rink. Follow me.”

Kuroo met Bokuto’s gaze and found that he was sporting a wide, satisfied smile, his cunning eyebrows wiggling smugly. He went after Tsukishima who had pulled out a phone out of his pocket and set it down on one of the lowered glass boards. Kuroo watched with piqued curiosity.

“I’ll play a song,” Tsukishima explained, his finger working on the screen of his phone. “Dance and skate to it how you see fit.”

“Uh—“

“Embarrassed?” Tsukishima’s eyebrow quirked up, amused.

“A little,” Kuroo admitted.

“Imagine what a competition would be like.”

There was no mistaking it – Tsukishima Kei was teasing him. Or rather, provoking him. Which was an odd sensation. Kuroo’s spent years provoking Daishou – the latter doing the same, albeit unsuccessfully – so having Tsukishima’s words crawl under his skin so fast, so easy, had Kuroo at a loss.

Bokuto, who saw it all, was on sitting at the entrance of the rink, encouraging Kuroo with a thumbs up.

Kuroo sighed and pushed himself to the centre of the rink. “Hit me,” he said with a theatrical bow to his audience of two.

Tsukishima pressed play and a steady beat slowly enveloped the rink, drowning it in its atmosphere; when the vocals hit, Kuroo moved, molding his body into the shape of the singer’s voice. When the beat picked up, Kuroo closed his eyes and allowed himself to be led purely by instinct and feeling.

The discrepancy between the deep house beats and bittersweet lyrics prompted Kuroo to put this feeling welling up inside him into movements. He’d taken dance classes once upon a time too; he needed to be more firm about them now. He imagined three people by his side, leading him, accompanying him under the spotlight; he remembered Bokuto, holding his hip and assuring him that this was _it_. Kuroo’s forehead felt hot, cheeks burning, legs afire. He was so daring, he performed a jump, and landed without a fear of falling. The only way to stop him now was to stop to song.

So when the final beat hit, his head sunk. Exhausted, he looked up. Bokuto was clapping enthusiastically and Kuroo couldn’t help but grin at him.

Tsukishima, standing awkwardly on the side, visibly stunned, opened his mouth to say, “It needs some brushing up in the—“

His gaze drifted away from Kuroo to the bleachers.

Akaashi stood behind the boards, his palm pressing into the glass and leaving a foggy shape of his long fingers. Kuroo could see, though Akaashi’s face was like porcelain, untouched by time, that tears ran down his pink cheeks. He was staring right at Kuroo, like he saw nothing else. It was nothing like Kuroo imagined his third meeting with Akaashi would be, because in the next moment, Akaashi had turned away and ran out. It was no meeting at all.

“I shouldn’t have played that song after all,” Tsukishima muttered, biting into his lip.

Bokuto was staring at the spot where Akaashi used to stand, flickering in and out of focus. Why, he couldn't tell, but Kuroo’s legs were ready to chase after Akaashi. His attempt didn't last long; he was stopped by Tsukishima’s hand curling around his bicep, holding him firmly in place.

“Let him go,” Tsukishima said. His voice held a bit of something Kuroo had seen on Akaashi’s face moments ago. “He’ll come back.”

“But—”

“Let him.”

Kuroo dropped his gaze, let the tension seep out of his shoulder, and Tsukishima’s hand was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, as always. Your thoughts and feedback are welcome and appreciated.
> 
> A list of songs, in order:  
> Ch. 01: [Devotion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8RTR1Ag0rhQ&nohtml5=False)  
> Ch. 02:[Stargazer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcXrsyg3Wvs/)  
> Ch. 03: [Rest of me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DRjzlERih4/) [Bo's favorite song]  
>   
> [Tumblr](http://katzette.tumblr.com)


End file.
